


Borderline

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Child Abuse, Crestless Sylvain Jose Gautier, Happy Ending, Jesus Christ Faerghus, M/M, Panic Attacks, Roleswap AU, minor Crest Miklan Gautier, non-canonical child abuse, that's a yikes from me sir
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24057592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: At least once a day, Sylvain wondered why he was born when Miklan had a Crest and was as big as a horse. He managed to make it to the Officers' Academy, but the longer he spent there, the worse of an idea it seemed.And it was only the first day.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 205
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *sigh*
> 
> I'm back on my bullshit?

The official story, if anyone asked, and many did, was that Sylvain attended the Officers’ Academy at Garreg Mach when he was nineteen because he wanted to be in the same class as the crown prince. The truth was that was a lucky coincidence. That was just when Sylvain had finally managed to squeeze enough gold from his father and from countless jobs in the castle town to afford to attend. He’d spent so much time working, he’d only passed the entrance exam by the skin of his teeth. He repeatedly thanked the goddess the previous generations of Gautiers had donated enough over the years that his tuition was less than if he’d been a commoner.

As it was, he was in Miklan’s old uniform that he’d tailored himself. Unfortunately, his brother hadn’t taken good care of them and he only had two pairs of trousers and a single jacket Sylvain managed to piece together out of three ruined ones with careful stitches and clever darts. If any of the other Blue Lions students noticed, they were too polite to comment on it during introductions. He’d never met any of them before and felt just as cold and lonely as he had in Gautier with how they were all so close. 

Ashe Ubert was the only other student without some earlier connection to the others, but he avoided Sylvain because he’d been born a commoner. That probably hurt the most, but what could Sylvain say? “Oh, no, I’m not a real noble, see, I don’t have a Crest, so I grew up in the bastard room. Oh, you didn’t have a room? Right, well, shut my mouth.”

Not for the first time, Sylvain wondered why he’d been born at all. Miklan had a Crest and was the size of a horse. Felix Fraldarius hadn’t been born at that point, so there was no real reason for his father to hope his second child would have a major Crest. But he kept his thoughts off his face, hiding them under a smiling face that’d seen slightly-too much sun and not quite enough good food. Nevermind that he’d paid for it himself, if his father heard anything other than glowing reviews of Sylvain’s grades and behavior, he’d be lucky to be dragged home in one piece.

He was terrified by the upcoming skills evaluations. He’d mastered the first few fire spells as a freezing eight year old when the draft in his room became enough to put out the fire, but hadn’t had any time, energy or teacher for anything else. He thought he’d be okay with an axe; he’d cut plenty of firewood. What more was there to it? Lance might be something more than abysmal with his strength from manual labor, but until he was able to afford glasses, archery was completely out. Maybe he could make some excuses about Gautiers being lancers to get out of swordwork.

Sylvain was snapped out of his thoughts by sharp eyes scratching down his freckled face. He aimed his most benign smile at Felix Hugo Fraldarius - the now-heir to the Fraldarius Dukedom, younger brother of the late Sir Glenn and carrier of the Major Crest of Fraldarius. No one could accuse Sylvain of being unprepared to meet his classmates. “Did you need something?” He only barely left off the reflexive ‘sir.’

Felix kept staring, eyes narrowed as if he could see all of the healed bruises. “Who are you?”

His thoughts stuttered to a halt. He reviewed everything he’d said, and yes, he’d introduced himself and everyone had nodded politely and given their ‘nice to meet you’s. He wasn’t sure what Felix wanted and one wrong word would have him back in the mountains wishing he’d never taught himself how to read. “I’m… Miklan’s younger brother.” Their brothers hadn’t been  _ friends, _ Miklan didn’t have any real friends, just cronies, but surely Felix had met him at the very least at Glenn’s funeral.

The answer only ratcheted Felix’s irritation higher. “Then why haven’t I heard of you?”

Oh, hm, that was the question, wasn’t it? Sylvain glanced to the side, hoping Ingrid Brandl Galatea would helpfully chime in that Felix hadn’t met her brothers, either, since they were Crestless, but she wasn’t there. He didn’t dare invoke her family himself, since Gautier wasn’t on the edge of starvation and the comparison might insult her if it got back to her. Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck and let out his best totally-not-forced laugh. “Oh you know, my father just has so much to say about Miklan.”

Felix continued to stare, clearly not picking up what Sylvan was putting down, but eventually he scoffed and walked away, uninterested.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” A voice said from behind him.

Sylvain let out his prepared response before turning. “Oh, it’s nothing. The perils of having a famous big…” He trailed off when he recognized the speaker. He almost choked on his voice. He bowed. “Your Imperial Highness. My apologies, I didn’t-”

“Please, Sylvain, just Edelgard. We’re peers here.”

Sylvain smiled, but his face felt cold from how pale he’d gone. “Of course… Edelgard. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She reached out and touched his elbow and it was all Sylvain could do not to flinch. She seemed to notice because her already sad smile got sadder. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I understand.”

A long-since beaten-down and silenced part of Sylvain wanted to snarl at her, wanted to yell what did she know, she had a Crest, but he had too much self-preservation for that. Instead he smiled, big and fake. “I’m not hiding anything. It’s great to finally be here.”

Sylvain didn’t know what to do with the heartbreak on her face, so he made polite excuses and escaped her too-knowing gaze. He tried to hide around the side of the entrance hall, but that was the stables and he didn’t notice until he was already in the courtyard surrounded by the monstrous animals. The sound, the smell, the sight pierced him like venomous fangs. Horses. Of course there were horses. The Knights of Seiros lived at Garreg Mach. There were plenty of riding classes at the Academy. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he had enough practice to keep them, and the pitiful wail, inside.

He shuffled backward with awkward steps and began strategizing how he was going to deal with… that. What good was a lancer that couldn’t ride? Once his senses finally warmed to the gardens, Sylvain took several deep breaths. Even if he could avoid mounted training himself, unlikely as that was, at least a few of his classmates would be mounted during training and missions. He pressed his face into his palms and gave himself twenty heartbeats of pure, terrified tears before wiping his face with an old handkerchief, embroidered by his mother before he was born Crestless, and then replaced his mask.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one starts as it means to go on: as an unmitigated disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets worse before it gets better.
> 
> I'm gonna be straight up with you guys, this is going to hurt. A lot. If you read Bad Things Bingo, particularly "Bruises," you'll know that I can capture the agonizing nuances of this kind of thing. Therefore, I ask that you practice self-care while reading, even though nothing graphic happens and almost everything is from the past. Okay? Ok.

Sylvain stared at himself in the mirror as he buttoned up his jacket. If he saw that it was his own hands, if he watched himself carefully button the collar that he tailored to be as loose as he could get away with, then it wasn’t so bad. Even so, he held his breath as he did the last buttons. His hands were shaking when he was done and he took several, wild breaths through his nose before he could calm down. He’d practiced at home until he could wear the jacket all day without running from the room and ripping out the collar.

It was stupid. He was stupid. The collar wasn’t going to strangle him. Some overly-starched fabric wasn’t going to trample him like a horse could. It was completely irrational. He would be fine. 

A knock sounded on his door. “Mr. Gautier?”

He wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine at all. Not even a little. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Two times. Three. He met his eyes in the mirror and then answered the door with a smile and polite bow. “Ah, Seteth. How may I help you this morning?”

This was it. His father had written in and recalled him back to Faerghus. He was foolish to think he could ever get out of being Miklan’s personal steward and training dummy.

“Miss Varley from the Black Eagles has requested a room on the ground floor. As her current room is adjacent to your classmates’, I believed you would be best to ask.”

_ Really, it should be Ashe, since he’s the Lonato heir, _ Sylvain didn’t say. His research said that Seteth was a stickler for propriety, so he was probably already in a bad mood from having to move Bernadetta von Varley -- only child of Count Varley, bearer of the Minor Crest of Indech -- to the ground floor. He did say, “Of course, sir. I’ll have my things ready to move by the orientation session this afternoon.”

Seteth seemed shocked by his response. He was frozen for a moment before nodding. “Yes. Good. Very well, then. I will inform Miss Varley.”

Sylvain closed the door and pressed his forehead against the wood. He wasn’t going home. He was fine. He was safe. As long as he kept his head down and his marks up, nothing bad was going to happen. He pushed off with both hands and pulled his neatly-folded clothing out the small dresser and packed them back into his trunk. On top he piled his toiletries and the single book he’d brought with him: a treatise on the history and culture of Sreng.

He’d wanted to bring his chess set, but the board was cracked and half of the pieces had been replaced with wood carvings from the butcher in the castle town. It would have raised more questions than anything. If he had time for a game, he was sure he could find one to borrow from someone in the Golden Deer. When he’d packed the trunk, he’d held onto the fleeting hope that his father would give him a stipend or at least a new set of uniforms to ensure he didn’t embarrass the family. Instead, he’d gotten a lecture on being poorly prepared.

No, it wasn’t the time to think about that. This was his one chance to succeed. If he could just prove himself to Prince Dimitri, then he might be able to secure a spot in the crown prince’s guard and live in Fhirdiad away from his father. Not for the first time, he prayed to the goddess for his father to have an exceptionally long life because anything was better than Miklan having complete control over him. He closed the trunk and left his dismal thoughts inside it. 

The trunk itself weighed more than the contents. Sylvain still took care lifting it onto his shoulder. A single injury could be the end of it for him. He carried his trunk up to the second floor and counted the doors, mentally listing off every occupant’s name, title and Crest, where applicable. Near the middle of the hall, he stopped. Hresvelg, then Vestra, then Hevring. But the door was open and that was certainly not Linhardt von Hevring unless Sylvain had lost his entire mind. It was… Yes, Caspar von Bergliez. He’d assumed Caspar was the closest thing he had to an actual peer, as he was also second born and Crestless, but there he was, shirtless with his door open and shouting out the window at something in the courtyard. Sylvain slipped past before he was noticed.

Distantly, he wondered how Bernadetta had ended up at the far end of the hall after several Blue Lions students. Actually, since her room was next to Prince Dimitri’s, her father had probably bribed someone in hopes the prince would do something unseemly and be forced to marry her or forfeit his honor. That’s certainly what Sylvain’s father would have done if he’d been a girl.

He set his trunk down at the end of the hallway, then sat on it. He didn’t have anything worth stealing, but it would almost be worse if someone opened his trunk and found what wasn’t in it. If he was more daring, he might have claimed his things  _ had _ been stolen and used that as an excuse to get a new uniform. But there was always the risk of Seteth writing his father and asking for replacements and that would be worse. Better not to try.

The second door from the end opened and Sylvain shot to his feet, bowing low before it was even fully open. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Ah.” A pause. “Good morning, Sylvain. Really, there is no need for such formality.”

Sylvain straightened and smiled, but said nothing.

The prince looked awkwardly at him and then cleared his throat. “I did not realize your room was so close.”

“It wasn’t. Just this morning Seteth asked if I would switch rooms with Miss Varley.” He gestured to Bernadetta’s door.

“How delightful. Felix’s room is next to mine. Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Prince Dimitri bit back a sigh at the title, but didn’t protest a second time. He closed his door and stepped up to Felix’s. He raised his hand to knock, then froze before touching it. He looked over his shoulder at Sylvain and his cheeks were flush. “Actually, if you do not mind, could you knock on his door?”

That was… odd. Miklan would never lower himself to knocking on a door himself if Sylvain was there, but Prince Dimitri clearly wasn’t deferring ‘work’ to a ‘servant.’ Sylvain couldn’t quite puzzle out the  _ why  _ of it, but it would be unspeakably rude to refuse, so he simply leaned forward for a brisk two knocks.

“Felix, it’s me,” Prince Dimitri said. “Would you like to join me for breakfast? Sylvain will be there, as well.”

“Go to hell, boar.”

Sylvain picked his jaw off the floor before Prince Dimitri turned to him, but only barely. Had Felix lost his mind or was he so absolutely secure in his position as future duke that he didn’t care what the prince thought? Sylvain was fairly certain Felix had an uncle that was eligible to inherit, so he was struck speechless at the sheer audacity.

“Ah, well. Please forgive him,” Prince Dimitri said.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Prince Dimitri sighed again, but only gestured for Sylvain to proceed him down the hall. Despite how unnatural it felt, he did as instructed and led the way to the dining hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, someone did open Sylvain's trunk and saw just how much he didn't have.

By the end of orientation on the first day, it was clear that Sylvain had to choose which eggs to put his basket in. While a position in the royal guard in Fhirdiad would protect him even once Miklan became head of the family, it was hypothetically more difficult than some kind of retainer position in Fraldarius. Hypothetically, since Felix was as amiable as a starving cur in winter and refused to so much as even look in Prince Dimitri’s direction. He even shrugged off Ingrid, who was, by all accounts, his childhood friend. Felix had tuned out less than two minutes into Seteth’s lecture and spent the rest of it adjusting the belt around his thigh.

The thing was, even if Felix was as impenetrable as the border in winter, Dedue was joined to Prince Dimitri at the hip. Possibly literally. Then there were both Ingrid and Ashe with better claims and actual desire to be knights. The bottom line was that he had a better chance of becoming an attache to Duke Fraldarius with an unusually good pedigree than of getting in the royal guard.

That option was even more promising when Felix pulled him aside after the lecture. “The boar isn’t what you think he is.”

Prince Dimitri was gone and everyone else was out of hearing range, so Sylvain carefully said, “I can’t say I have strong opinions about him. I only met him yesterday.”

Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you were supposed to be Gautier’s son?”

“I am.” Sylvain really didn’t like where the conversation was going. He took a step back. “I don’t know why you’re so sure I’m faking who I am?” He was trying to deflect, but at the same time he wanted to laugh. If only Felix knew how badly he wished he was someone else.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Felix took a step forward, his posture tense and arm half-raised.

As his panic surged, Sylvain fought against the urge to flinch or run. Breath stuttering around the lump in his throat, he said, “No, I don’t, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to prove I am who I say I am. It’s not easy to get into Garreg Mach.”

“Then why doesn’t Ingrid know you?”

That was oddly specific. Yes, he’d already asked why  _ he _ didn’t know Sylvain, but why Ingrid? Because they were childhood friends? Ingrid had once been engaged to Felix’s brother, which would explain why they knew each other despite Galatea’s less than stunning status, but why would Gautier have anything to do with her? The Daphnel Crest was weak in her bloodline; his father would never consider her a viable partner for Miklan. The last Sylvain knew, his father was still hounding Charon to get Cassandra back from the Church.

He had to choose his words carefully. Getting in a fight would only end badly, even if he managed to outrun the worst of Felix’s hits. “She’s too young for Miklan.”

Felix grabbed the front of his jacket and Sylvain felt faint as the collar dug into the back of his neck. “And what about you? That social-climbing bottom-feeder’s been trying to sell her off to anyone with a penny and cock.”

Oh. He was being protective of her, in a way. Sylvain could deal with that. Gently, so as to not rile Felix up any further, he pulled Felix’s hand off his jacket. Once he could breathe again, he said, “While Miklan is still a bachelor, my father won’t consider me.” He wouldn’t after, either, but Sylvain wouldn’t say that aloud.

Felix narrowed his eyes like he could see through Sylvain. Finally, he scoffed. “Good. If you even think about trying to use her-”

“I won’t,” Sylvain interjected. “And it’s really kind of you to look after her.”

Felix scoffed again and left without another word.

Sylvain leaned against the wall and tried to calm down. He didn’t know if he could handle a third confrontation with Felix. For the most part, Sylvain had relied on everyone being too polite to question him so directly, but Felix wasn’t concerned with niceties. Once he was less terrified, he’d be envious of Ingrid, but for the moment, he was focused on surviving the first week.

His stomach was too upset to even think about dinner, so he straightened his spine and returned to the dorms. The door to his room was unlocked and the key sat on the desk. His trunk was at the foot of the bed. He flipped it open and his heart sank. Some had opened it. His meagre belongings were spread around in a disorganized mess. He knelt next to it and bowed his head, feeling tears of shame prick the corners of his eyes. Had it been Felix, checking his story? Dedue searching for poison or weapons that could be used against the prince? There were countless options and none of them boded well.

He wanted to throw himself on his bed and sleep until he forgot the end was coming, but he didn’t. He removed his uniform and carefully hung up the pieces so that they wouldn’t crease too badly over night. He knocked out the existing wrinkles with a heavy sachet of dry grain, lavender and cloves to keep any smell from sticking and only then splayed out diagonally across the mattress. 

\---

Sylvain woke in the middle of the night to a soft, tentative knock on his door. He glanced out of the window. By the position of the moon, he thought he was a little past midnight. The knock didn’t come again, so he took his time checking the door. He rubbed his eyes, drank some water and tried to prepare himself for whatever threat or blackmail awaited him.

But it never came.

On the other side of his door was a small, beautifully wrapped parcel. The wrapping was a short cloak just barely wide enough for his shoulders. Within were two undershirts and a single, pressed uniform shirt. As he moved to put them away, he noticed a bar of warm, pine soap and a note that said only ‘Sorry!’ in a shaky hand. He turned it over, but there was no signature and nothing else written. He cried then, pressing his fist against his mouth to silence any sobs. Someone had seen his pitiful belongings and then brought him things to help him make it through the academy.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and just let two days’ worth of pent up feelings bleed out. Thanks to some stranger with impossible kindness, he might just be able to make it through the year. When he’d wept himself empty, he wrapped the nice soap in his only nice handkerchief and set it in his desk drawer. He’d save it for when he really needed it. There was going to be a ball late in the year, which would be a nightmare, even if students were expected to wear their uniforms. At least, thanks to his benefactor, he’d smell nice.

Heart full to the point of pain, he slipped back into his bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, any guesses? :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just breathe.

Sylvain woke up to similar packages three more times in the first two weeks. The last one had a small pouch of gold and a note that said, “You probably need gloves and boots, too, huh?” with a drawing of a, rather detailed, distressed person. Never did the sender leave their name or any identifying information, which was probably for the best because it would have turned him into a grateful, sobbing mess for days. He couldn’t fathom why someone would be so generous, but he chose not to question it. Seteth had a younger sister who would supposedly have access to things like extra uniform jackets, but Sylvain was fairly certain Seteth would have a heart attack if she got within three meters of a boy’s room.

Perhaps the best gift of all was a set of embroidered handkerchiefs, each with a different flower and his initials. He’d promptly used one to wipe up his tears before reading the note that came with them, which said, “I know how it is.” He carried one with him at all times and it was a steady warmth in his pocket that helped him get through rougher moments. Thanks to his secret benefactor, he was able to be in the stables without panicking. That meant that if he were assigned stable duty, he could just have his partner keep the horses away while he shoveled. He was going to make it through.

His stress was even somewhat manageable until Prince Dimitri and the other house leaders went on a bonding mission. That was when Felix cornered him again. For a minute that lasted an eternity, he just stared at Sylvain. “You’re coming with me.”

Sylvain barely managed to jerk his arm away before Felix could grab him and then his mind was speeding away. Technically, they were peers at the academy and he could refuse, but if his father found out, he’d be dead. Then again, Felix was definitely not the type to snitch, he was far more likely to just chase Sylvain down and  _ then _ take him wherever he wanted. Sylvain could win in a foot race, he was sure, but he lived two doors down from Felix: he’d find a way. So in the end he plastered a smile on his face, pretended he hadn’t just flinched, and said, “Alright.”

Felix walked him to the training hall and then gestured to the weapons rack. “Arm yourself.”

There was no question what to pick. Felix wanted to be a swordmaster. Sylvain lifted the first training sword and it was at least twice as heavy as he was expecting, the point dropping to the floor.

Felix snatched it out of his hand and glared, nostrils flaring as he visibly fumed. “Pick the weapon you want. Not what you think is going to make me happy.”

The words struck Sylvain right in the heart. No single person had ever noticed before. In fact, he was usually accused of trying to  _ upset _ people and yet here he was. He bit his tongue and glanced sidelong at the rack. Well, Gautiers were lancers, so he went for that next.

Only for Felix to steal that, too. “Do you have ears Gautier?”

Sylvain flinched and brought his arms up to guard his face against a strike with the shaft of the lance. But it never came. Instead, Felix stared at him, angrier than Sylvain had ever seen. His face was flushed down to his neck and his hands were white on the weapons. His Crest flared, bright and blue, as he threw the weapons at the rack and stomped past Sylvain and out of the training hall. The weapons rack creaked and then fell apart in three, clean pieces. 

When he could breathe again, Sylvain swallowed and examined the damage. The last thing he needed while being kicked out was to be sent home with a bill. Thankfully, the pieces were clean and large enough to be repaired. He rifled through the equipment shed and found a hammer and nails. The hammer was rusted and looked nearly unused and the nails were a variety of sizes, many bent and some clearly scrap metal mistaken for nails. It was tricky with only one set of hands and no workbench, but before he could leave to find something, Raphael came in and offered his help.

The two of them had it back together in a few, short minutes and then were picking the junk out of the box of nails and baffling at some of the strange things they found. Four acorns and seven quills, to start. They were halfway through the box when the doors to the training hall opened again. Sylvain snapped his head to see who had entered, then froze. Seteth held both doors wide open and stared in with poorly-contained rage on his face. Though his limbs were suddenly numb, he struggled to his feet.

“Mr. Gautier.” Seteth was clearly struggling to keep his voice calm. His left arm shook just the slightest bit, so he gripped the door tighter.

“Yes, sir.”

“Please… Come with me.” 

Heart sunk to the bottom of his new boots, Sylvain followed. The monastery was as large as the Gautier castletown. By the time he made it up to Seteth’s office, he was on the edge of fainting, but it was okay. Sylvain was going back to Gautier, which was at least familiar. He knew how and where to hide there.

Seteth had some control over his anger when he said, “Please, have a seat.” Seteth sat in his chair and spent a long time meticulously clearing off his desk, even going so far as to replace several books onto their shelves. Once it was empty, he folded his hands on the polished surface and looked Sylvain in the eye.

“I must apologize. I do not quite know where to begin.”

“It’s alright, sir. You don’t have to say anything. I understand.”

Before he could stand, Seteth reached across the desk, but paused before touching Sylvain. After an awkward moment, he slowly, so slowly, lowered his hand until it was just barely touching Sylvain’s. “I don’t believe that you do. Yes, the Officers’ Academy is here to train the next generation of generals of Fodlan, but this is the heart of the Church of Seiros. This is a place of safety.”

Sylvain flinched and pulled his hands away. He looked at the floor.

Seteth sighed. “I am… fortunate enough to be able to say that I do not understand what you’re going through. However, I have been here long enough to recognize it. I know you will have difficulty believing this, but under no circumstances will you be sent home. Further, now that I am aware of the circumstances, I will have you review all correspondence with House Gautier to ensure there is no content that will cause unpleasantness.”

It took a minute for the words to sink in. Then another for Sylvain to be sure he’d heard everything correctly. Then he broke down. He broke in half and sobbed into his hands. By the time he thought to pull out one of his handkerchiefs, his hands were wet. When Seteth saw it, he made an audible noise, but Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to look. His chest hurt too much to move.

Eventually Seteth tapped his desk and stood. “Wait here. I will be back with a tea service and we can discuss this further.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well done to everyone that guessed Bernie!
> 
> Most people: Ah, pine soap! And pine needle tea is is Felix's favorite, ergo-  
> Me: P-pine is just a manly smell?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix and being unintentionally hilarious: name a more iconic duo.

Everything wasn’t suddenly fine, but it was better. Seteth’s promise was a good barrier, but there would always be someone willing to write to the margrave and tell him the truth. Sylvain would have to remain in the Blue Lions and perform well and visibly on missions, but he could breathe easier. Seteth had sworn to discreetly handle whomever would be teaching his class. Apparently, it was supposed to be decided after the house leader bonding mission, but one of the teachers literally ran away when they were attacked by bandits, so…

Instead, the prince, princess and next sovereign duke came back with Jeralt the Bladebreaker and his mercenary corps. Prince Dimitri was clearly infatuated with the Bladebreaker’s daughter, which was charming in a baby duck sort of way.

“The boar is a disgrace.”

That was the other thing. After storming out of the training hall, Felix was, more often than not, lingering near Sylvain. Whatever his intent was, the result was that few people dared approach Sylvain. A double-bladed sword, since while it kept people from asking uncomfortable questions, it also kept him from forming alliances that could get him out from under Miklan’s thumb.

“I’m sure it’s harmless,” Sylvain said.

“He’s making a fool of himself.”

“Shouldn’t everyone be allowed to be a stupid teenager?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sylvain regretted them. He couldn’t have been more obviously talking about himself if he’d tried. And from the chagrined look on Felix’s face, he caught it, as well.

“Whatever. Come on. I’m going to the training hall. You can practice or… not.”

Inside, they found Caspar, who was willing to run Sylvain through the basics of axe-work while Felix wailed against the training dummies. As predicted, the mechanics of axe-wielding for combat were the same as they were for chopping wood and felling trees. The biggest hurdle would be combat techniques and strategy, which he had a good grasp on intellectually, if not in practice.

When the sun began to set, Linhardt appeared to drag Caspar away for dinner and Felix reluctantly set down his practice sword. They walked to the dining hall in a companionable silence, occasionally sharing a small grin when Caspar yelled something ahead. They collected their meals from the kitchen staff and moved to sit down.

“Sylvain,” Edelgard called. “Please, come sit with Ferdinand and me.”

Before Sylvain could reply, Felix grabbed his arm. He stared directly at Edelgard and said only, “No,” before pulling Sylvain to sit down opposite Ingrid.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Sylvain murmured.

“I don’t trust her and neither should you.”

“I’m trying not to burn any bridges.”

“So stay where you belong!” After his outburst, Felix snorted and turned to his food, stiff posture making it clear the conversation was over.

Not that it stopped Ingrid. “Felix! What has gotten into you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“None of my-! Felix, Her Imperial Highness is our classmate-”

“Some classmate if you won’t even say her name,” Felix sneered.

Mercedes set her tray down with a loud clatter. “Well, now, we’re all very excited this evening, aren’t we?” With a bright smile, she sat next to Ingrid. She turned her smile on Sylvain, who felt his breathing ease and his shoulders relax. “How are you, Sylvain?”

“Well, thank you. Felix and I spent the afternoon in the training hall.” He hadn’t realized how poorly he’d been reacting to Ingrid and Felix fighting until they’d been forced to stop. His legs felt weak and he was grateful he’d only just sat down.

“I always find training so calming, but I suppose that’s because archery is so meditative.” She gently touched Ingrid’s arm. “And how about you? What did you do today?”

As soon as Ingrid said the word ‘stable,’ Sylvain tuned her out. Dinner was a thick cheese gratin that felt achingly familiar, though he couldn’t pin down any specific memory. It felt more like home than Gautier castle did, in a weird way. Felix kicked his ankle under the table.

“Sorry,” Felix muttered.

Shock seized Sylvain’s chest and stopped him mid-chew. Eventually, he swallowed, but had to cough as it caught in his throat. “It’s… fine. Nothing. Thank you.”

Physically and emotionally drained, Sylvain had to force himself to wash up before returning to his room. His walk back was a half-shuffle, half-drag that took twice as long as simply walking, but it was a cathartic kind of physical sulk to drain the last dregs of emotional upheaval from the day.

However, when he opened his door, he found that it wasn’t over. Felix was in his room rifling through his things. Strangely, he was sniffing one of Sylvain’s new, spare jackets.

Sylvain swallowed. “Um? What are you doing?”

Felix released the jacket like it had insulted his mother and turned his sharp gaze on Sylvain. “I’ve seen your boots. I was checking what else you needed.”

“Oh.” Sylvain leaned against the closed door to stay upright. “I, um, I’m fine now.” He gestured to the new boots, sitting just inside his door.

“Now,” Felix repeated. He pulled the jacket by the sleeve. “Did Seteth do this?”

“What?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Who do you think told him?”

“Oh.” Sylvain darted over to sit on his bed because he really might faint at any moment. “I… I didn’t really think about it.” He swallowed. Too many emotions were clattering around in his brain, begging for attention. “But, um, no, Seteth didn’t give me anything. Someone looked in my trunk on the first day. Stuff just started showing up at my door.”

Felix snorted again. “It doesn’t smell like Edelgard.”

For some reason, that was impossibly funny. Sylvain laughed until he couldn’t breathe and had to wipe the tears from his eyes with one of the handkerchiefs.

“What?” Felix snarled.

“Have you… Have you been…” He stopped to laugh more. “Have you been sniffing the princess?”

“Fuck off, Sylvain.” He shut Sylvain’s armoire and rolled his eyes. “Just tell me when you finally decide what you’re going to specialise in.”

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While we are past the worst of it, anyone with experience with sort of thing will know that it's not that easy, so just watch yourselves, okay?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be okay.
> 
> ...But what if it's not?

Sylvain pushed his food around more than he ate, but it was still better than not eating at all. “I just really think I should be a lancer. Gautiers always are.”

Felix took a heavy breath, but held back whatever his first thought was. With his hand wrapped tight around his fork, he said, “I think the Gautiers have made it clear they don’t consider you one of them.”

“But-”

“But what, Sylvain? Are you really going to defend them?”

“We’re lancers because that’s the only way we can be effective against Sreng. They use slash and run tactics and we can’t keep up if we’re not mounted.” At Felix’s glare, Sylvain started shoveling his food in. He wanted to get as much in as he could in case he had to run. 

“You’re going back?”

“What choice do I have? I have no inheritance, no skills-”

Felix growled and turned sharply away from Sylvain. He jabbed his fork a little too hard at his sausage, activating his Crest and denting the copper plate below. 

“Oh! I didn’t realize Crests could work with forks!” Annette set her plate down opposite Felix and leaned across the table, her hair swaying. 

“Of course they do,” Felix growled. “How is it supposed to know what’s a weapon or what isn’t?”

Tentatively, Sylvain scooted closer to the table. “Most Crests actually respond to intent. Or emotion.” He waved his hands. “It’s a little murky. Fraldarius responds to killing intent. Cichol to defensive intent. Seiros is more or less righteousness.”

Ingrid dropped her plate on the table with a clatter. Actually, all of the Blue Lions stood around Sylvain, staring.

He lowered his head, some of his hair falling forward to cover his face. “Miklan was having trouble activating his Crest, so he made me figure out how to make it work….” When he looked up, he was surrounded, Mercedes and even Ashe looking over his shoulders as if his breakfast held an essay on the topic. “Um…”

Annette pumped her fists in the air. “This is amazing! How does the Crest of Dominic work?”

“I didn’t-”

“Wait, that can’t be right,” Ingrid said. She wasn’t busily eating, so Sylvain knew there’d be no distracting her. “Because His Highness’ Crest activates all of the time when he doesn’t want it to.”

“She’s right. The boar is always breaking things. Ever since he was a child.”

Sylvain started to shrink in on himself. “Well, the Crest of Blaiddyd is reactive - as is the Crest of Riegan, which could be explained by Riegan being a branch house of Blaiddyd.”

“This is amazing! Why have I never heard of this before?” Annette said.

Sylvain sunk into his jacket until his collar was covering his chin. “I don’t know. The Gautier library is full of accounts of the Ten Elites. I just skimmed everything for mentions of Crest activation and wrote down the circumstances until the patterns emerged.”

Mercedes lightly touched his shoulder and then backed away, taking Ashe with her. “Well that’s certainly fascinating. Why don’t we all let Sylvain finish his breakfast and we can discuss it later with our professor.”

“That’s right!” Ashe said. “It’s our first day of classes. I wonder where His Highness and Dedue are.”

“The boar went ahead to make sure the classroom was ready.” Felix rolled his eyes as soon as the words were out of his mouth. 

“I’m going to help!” Annette pumped her arms again and dashed off, abandoning her breakfast, which was quickly picked up by Ingrid.

Once the crowd was gone, Sylvain could breathe again. He rubbed his forehead and tried to relax. His pulse was nearly deafening in his ears, but all of his senses were still in order, even if his nose felt a little numb. It was okay. He was okay.

Felix elbowed him. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Just tell them to fuck off next time.”

Sylvain looked up through his droopy hair with his most tired expression.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll do it. Just stop looking at me like that.”

The sound of Ingrid setting down her fork broke the moment. She folded her hands and held them in front of her mouth. She stared at the two of them with narrowed eyes and suspicion in every line of her posture. “When did you two become friends?”

Felix looked knowingly at Sylvain, who did not, in fact, know, and then turned to Ingrid. “Fuck off. Fraldarius and Gautier are the backbone of the kingdom. Focus on your own affairs.”

That offended her enough that she took her empty plate and Annette’s half-eaten one to finish elsewhere.

“I don’t think I want her to be mad at me,” Sylvain said.

“She’s not. She’s mad at me.” Felix shrugged and finished off his food. “And she’ll get over it. She always does.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

Felix stood and flicked his finger against Sylvain’s forehead. “Stop that. You can cry about your life or you can live it, but you don’t have time for both.”

“Hey Felix?”

He grunted.

“Thanks.”

Felix patted his shoulder and walked off to deliver his plate to the kitchen staff.

Sylvain mulled over the entire debacle as he scraped the last of his eggs into his mouth. He hadn’t expected everyone to be so… enthusiastic about his little research project. It wasn’t really even accurate, anyway. He’d been so sure that the key to the Crest of Gautier was confidence, but telling Miklan that had just made the problem worse. They’d both been whipped for that failure, a singular moment of brotherly solidarity before Miklan broke his nose and kicked him in the shin.

He hoped they didn’t have Hanneman as their professor, but the so-called Father of Crestology would certainly expect him to write a paper or something on the subject. Sylvain wasn’t quite ready to show just how poor his writing was. Oh, his penmanship was fine, but outside of his application, which he’d spent two weeks refining, he’d never written anything formal. He supposed Felix would help him, but he wasn’t convinced Felix’s writing was any better.

Mercedes seemed to be kind-enough that he might be able to approach her, but she was also older and a graduate of the Academy of Sorcery, so she undoubtedly wouldn’t have time to help him. He sighed, spent a moment feeling sorry for himself and then stood. He returned his plate and walked to the Blue Lion’s classroom with his head held as high as he could and far more surely than he felt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's my birthday :) have a gift, on me, as per hobbit tradition.

Sylvain felt numb after the announcement. He could hardly imagine a better situation for himself. And the Bladebreaker’s daughter, Byleth, had  _ chosen _ the Blue Lions class of her own accord. Perhaps, Seteth had given her a nudge, but it had been her own choice. Contrary to what people might think, mercenaries were particularly skilled at taking advantage of anyone’s skills, whatever they may be.

A few years before, Miklan had pissed off the towns in Southern Gautier to the point that they staged a near-full incursion to the North. Even if his father hadn’t been too proud to admit he lost control of his own region, Duke Fraldarius had been busy with the Western Territories. He’d tossed a bag of gold at Miklan and told him to fix it in a tone that had Sylvain cowering even though he wasn’t the target. Once they’d left the receiving room, Miklan had thrown half the bag at Sylvain while he pocketed the rest.

“Deal with it.” Miklan had turned to him then, looming at his full height with his arm pulled back for a punch if he dared complain. “Or else.”

So with the proverbial axe over his head, Sylvain hired what mercenaries he could afford with the gold. The captain had looked at him, particularly his black eye and crooked nose and then sighed, muttering “Faerghus” under his breath. He’d collected what former knights he could find, sat Sylvain down with a hearty dinner and told him to wait there while he dealt with the rebellion.

Three days later, he’d returned and patted Sylvain on the head, as if he were a small child and not seventeen. “Alright, it’s settled. Tell the Margrave it was a slaughter and not to expect tithes to be the same for a few years.”

Looking at the mercenaries, it was clear there hadn’t been much of a fight. After a moment, it struck him, and Sylvain nodded. “I understand. But what if he sends someone to take it by force?”

The captain smirked his question. “Clever. Good. Keep your ear to the ground. If he’s planning that, send one of these men,” he pointed to the former knights that he’d taken South, “and they’ll run ahead and give ‘em a warning. I’ve got it all settled.”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah. Keep your chin up, kid. Survive until you can live.”

Which was all to mean he was happy to be guided by Professor Byleth. The first day of instruction was a simple questionnaire, magically copied for the entire class, that asked what their proficiencies were as well as their personal goals and thoughts about their current or future abilities. Though the back of his neck burned, Sylvain filled out the pages as accurately as possible. Lying would only make it more difficult for the professor to get him into fighting shape.

When the class was over, she made eye contact and waved Sylvain forward. She waited until they were completely alone to speak, something which took a while because Felix and Mercedes were both reluctant to leave him and lingered at the door. 

“Sylvain,” she said, even though they were finally alone.

“Yes, professor?”

“I will do what I can for your sensitivities; however, my job is to ensure that you survive whatever military encounters you come across. In order for you and I to establish the appropriate dynamic, I will act and speak in ways that will cause you difficulty.” Byleth’s tone was even and didn’t waver once. Similarly, her gaze was blank and steady, as if she were reciting from a text. “When things are difficult in that way, it is critical that you seek out Seteth. While your friends may be able to provide comfort, they must remain your friends and not your healers. Do you understand?”

Sylvain swallowed. He wasn’t entirely sure he did. Rather, he understood what she was saying with words, but there was something else, a deeper layer that was out of his reach. “Don’t dump my problems on them, got it.”

Slowly, and with telegraphed movements, Byleth placed her hand on his arm. “A burden shared is a burden halved, but they will be unable to remove it. If they attempt to, it will only make things more difficult. Accept it for now; as you heal, it will become clearer.”

Sylvain laughed, trying to hold back his tears. “How do you know this? Aren’t you my age?”

Byleth tilted her head to the side and then nodded. “You have noticed how I am,” she gestured to her face and pulled her hand down to include her posture and presence. “I can see things more easily outside of myself than within. We all carry something. It is not a weakness to need help.”

“Are you saying that… if you could, you’d rather not be so emotionless?”

She nodded again. “While it is beneficial to my profession, it leaves me weak in other areas. While it is foolish to attempt to master everything…” She dropped her hand from his arm. “It is wise to have a solid base in many aspects.”

“Thank you, professor. I’ll… I’ll  _ try _ to keep it in mind.” The honesty scared him. Even though she’d been nothing but accepting and helpful, Sylvain felt like this,  _ this _ would be one step too far. As if not promising that he’d do it immediately was the fatal flaw that would make him lose her support. Goddess, but he hated feeling this way. He felt so stupid and helpeless over a single word.

“Good. Rest early tonight. You are more drained than you think.”

Sylvain nodded, afraid that he’d cry trying to speak around the lump in his throat. It was only mid-afternoon, but he was starving, so he went to the dining hall to grab an early dinner. He was just arriving when he encountered another student, a young woman much shorter than him with a hood peeking out of her uniform jacket. Though he stopped a good distance from her, she jumped and squealed when she saw him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you. Bernie never watches where she’s going.”

Everything clicked into place at once. Sylvain pulled one of the embroidered handkerchiefs out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m… Sylvain.”

“Oh! Oh.” She wiped her terrified tears and held it out to him. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. For… for everything. I’d say you don’t know what it means to me, but obviously you do.” They shared a nervous look and even swallowed at the same time.

“Y-yeah. Um, anyway, I was just going to get some food to take back to my room…”

“Me too. I’ll… help you carry it, if it’s something unwieldy. Or, you know.”

“T-thanks, Sylvain. Oh no, I forgot to introduce myself. Bernie is the worst.” She cleared her throat and did her best to meet his eyes. “I’m Bernadetta, but, um, it would be nice if you called me Bernie?”

“Nice to meet you, Bernie.”


	8. Chapter 8

Less than a week after the mock battle, Bernadetta joined the Blue Lions. There was a tense moment when she dashed into the seat Felix typically took next to Sylvain, but Sylvain pulled out one of the embroidered handkerchiefs, gave Bernadetta a little nod, and Felix grudgingly sat next to Ingrid. Sylvain did his best to keep her calm, but she seemed to shiver in abject terror just from being in the classroom. Too frightened to whisper, she penned him a note on a scrap of paper.  _ I want to go back to my room. _

He gave her a soft pat on the hand and commiserating frown before turning back to the professor. Having a head for strategy wouldn’t help him if he didn’t have a solid basis of knowledge to work from. If Professor Byleth noticed, she chose not to comment, continuing her lecture as if there were no interruptions. When the class ended, Bernadetta sprinted from the room, leaving behind one of her books. It wasn’t class-related at all, instead it was a compendium of plants. Sylvain turned it over his hands before shrugging.

Byleth approached him before he could leave his desk. “I don’t need to ask you to look over her.”

Since it wasn’t a question, he only replied with a nod before packing away the rest of his things. Felix walked up to him with a scowl.

“Who was that? I’ve never seen her before.”

“Bernadetta von Varley,” Sylvain replied. “She’s the one who, you know…” He made a meaningless gesture.

Felix folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why would she?”

Sylvain gestured between them. “Don’t you dare act like this to her. Can’t you see how fragile she is?”

“A facade.”

“Felix!”

“Why would she join our class when she’s an Imperial noble?” Felix snarled the question out.

Sylvain flinched and when he finally lowered his arms from a protective cover over his face, Felix at least had the grace to look contrite. Sylvain growled low in his throat, a threat he’d been on the wrong end far too many times in his life. “Maybe because for the first time in her life there’s someone else that understands.”

He walked far around Felix and out of the classroom. He stopped by the dining hall to grab food for Bernadetta and then went to the room he’d originally been assigned. He knocked gently. “Hey, it’s me.”

“I’m not hiding!”

“I know. It’s okay. You left your book behind. And I brought you some things for dinner, in case you aren’t feeling well later. The kitchen staff all really like you, you know?”

“D-do they?” She asked from behind her door.

“Yeah, as soon as I said who it was for, they were happy to make something for you. Apparently there’s some fruit handpies in here.”

At that, Bernadetta finally cracked her door open. She accepted the basket of food and her book and then sat on the floor just inside her room, peering out from behind the crack. “The Blue Lions are so… excitable.”

Sylvain sat just outside the door. He leaned against the wall next to it rather than looking in, guessing that eye contact would only make her more nervous. “Yeah, most of them were childhood friends.”

“N-not you?”

“He never said as much, but I’m sure my father didn’t want me ‘bothering’ the proper noble children that weren’t disappointments.”

“I have a Crest and I still wasn’t good enough.”

“Most days I don’t think having a Crest would even help. It never seemed to make Miklan any happier. You know, when I was little, I thought it’d be us against the world. Goddess, I was an idiot.”

“It’s okay.” Bernadetta’s hand snaked out and patted the back of Sylvains. “I always thought one day my mother would help. I guess she did… eventually.”

“Better late than never, I suppose. But I would have liked at least some warning before being carted in a sack to the monastery and waking up in a strange bed.”

Sylvain sat blinking for several long seconds, but eventually he just nodded. “That sounds about right. If you ever need a day off, I’ll give you a copy of my notes. Annette knows the copy spell, so it’s easy-enough. She takes her own notes, but wants mine, too, for some reason. I don’t think she has time to sleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“T-thanks. The only one I wasn’t too afraid to ask was Linhardt, but he never goes to classes, either.”

“I don’t understand how he and Caspar can just… be like that all of the time.”

“Right?” Bernadetta covered her mouth after the outburst. “Oh Bernie, you’re really going to be in trouble this time…”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else is around.”

“Still.”

“Yeah.” Sylvain stood and brushed the dust off his uniform. “I’m going to see if I can fit some training in before dinner. I know Felix looks really mean, but he’s been helping me out.”

“He’s r-really scary.”

“Yeah, but he’s gentle with the monastery cats, so he  _ can _ be nice. I’ll just have to trick him into it.”

“If you say so.” She closed the door and then immediately reopened it. “Have fun with training, I guess.”

“Thanks, Bernie.”

Sylvain walked slowly to the training hall, still aching from the previous day’s practice, but not enough to entirely put him off the idea. He had to make a quick dodge when Annette tripped over her own feet right into his path. He just managed to catch her hands and keep her upright.

“Thanks, Sylvain! You’re a life-saver!”

“I didn’t realize today was magic training,” Sylvain said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was actually positive it wasn’t, but he couldn’t say that to Annette.

“Oh, it’s not! But Catherine is holding some brawling lessons, so I came to practice my basic heal spell!”

“That’s a great idea. Do you think you could teach me?”

“Of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only I could somehow fit "fuck the Jedi" into this fic, it would have all of my agendas.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has a birthday. It's not that he didn't know when it was; only that it never mattered.

Garland Moon began without fanfare and with a great deal of comforting Ashe and Annette, neither of whom had never taken a life before. Sylvain had met Mercedes’ eyes over their heads and they exchanged pained smiles. When words stopped helping, Mercedes suggested borrowing the kitchen to bake something sweet. With the promise of only their gentlest classmates and possibly cake, he even managed to lure Bernadetta out of her room. Of course, that meant she wouldn’t attend classes that week, but Seteth had told Sylvain he assigned his younger sister to try to coax Bernie out more often, so it wasn’t too bad.

The five of them ended up spending the night in the dining hall, eating small cakes in a ‘fort’ they made of the tables and benches, with the tablecloths serving as walls. By the light of a single candle, Mercedes told ghost stories until Ashe was hiding behind Sylvain and both Annette and Bernadetta were in his lap. He made eye contact with Mercedes and both managed to hold their laughter in for a solid minute before they were wheezing with loud guffaws.

After that, Mercedes sang sweet lullabies until the younger three were asleep in a pile. They laid straight out on either side of the pile, like parents protecting their own little ones. Though he’d slept in worse places than the floor of the dining hall, since they were technically breaking the rules, sleep evaded Sylvain entirely. He tried not to shift or make too much noise, but Mercedes didn’t share the compulsion.

“I know it’s difficult to believe, and it will be for a long time, but there’s no part of you that made them treat you that way.”

Sylvain was torn between laughing and crying, but in the end did neither. “Yes. It’s because I don’t have a Crest.”

“Sylvain… You knew what I meant.” She reached across the pile to waggle her finger at him. “I have a younger brother and he’s more stubborn than you could be in a hundred lifetimes, so don’t try anything.”

Sylvain pushed her hand down gently. “Thank you.”

\---

The next morning, in exchange for the rest of the cakes, the kitchen staff promised not to tell Seteth what they’d done, so long as they put all of the furniture to rights. By the time Sylvain returned to his room, his uniform was a rumpled mess, but he had eaten buns fresh from the oven, so he called it even. He was just covering a yawn outside his door when Felix’s slammed open.

Sylvain flinched from the fury radiating off him. Heart in his throat, he was speechless.

Felix bared his teeth. “Where the hell were you? In town with some girl?”

Sylvain had cringed fully into the wall before Felix realized his mistake and softened his expression as much as he could. “Well?”

Sylvain had to cough and rub the back of his neck before he could answer. “I didn’t know that was even an option?”

“It’s not,” Felix snarled. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s mid-morning and you obviously didn’t sleep in your own room.”

“We had a sleepover in the dining hall.”

Felix’s expression made it clear he thought that answer was preposterous, but at the same time, he didn’t exactly doubt Sylvain. It ended up somewhere between narrowed eyes and dropped jaw. In the end, all he said was, “We have class today.”

“I know. I was about to get changed.” Sylvain gestured to his door, but Felix clearly had more for him.

“Tell me before you pull another stunt like this.”

Sylvain didn’t have a response to that. He didn’t  _ think _ Felix wanted to get him in trouble and he was positive Felix didn’t want to join in, so… 

Felix crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot.

“I-- Well, okay, but why?”

Felix’s expression darkened and he looked at the ground with his mouth in a hard, thin line. His fists were clenched so tightly that his skin was taut and white as bone. Finally, he muttered, “I’m not going to let you do anything stupid.” And then he stormed off without waiting for a response.

Something hung in the place where Felix had been standing. Sylvain could feel it like a weight in his chest, but he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. He stared for another moment, then went into his room to gather his things for a bath.

\---

Two days later, Sylvain opened his door to leave for breakfast only to find Felix sulking outside his door. Still glaring, Felix held out a heavy, paper-wrapped parcel. He waited expectantly for Sylvain to open it, huffing loudly when Sylvain opened the paper instead of tearing it. 

Inside was a heavy, iron axe. The blade flared on either side of the head like polished metal wings. In the center was a deep engraving of not the Crest or Shield of Gautier, but instead the lion head that represented Faerghus as a whole. The handle was the correct length for Sylvain’s height and the grip was finely dyed and braided leather with polished fastenings on either side. It was beautiful, but clearly designed for fighting, not as a decoration. Sylvain tried to swallow down his emotions, but his throat was hoarse. “What’s this for?”

“What’s this--!” Felix snapped his mouth shut and took several breaths until his reactive anger faded. “Happy birthday, dumbass.”

As usual, Felix left before Sylvain could say anything, but Sylvain had never appreciated it so much before. With wet eyes, he retreated into his room. He carefully set the axe by the door and then rushed to his desk. In the top drawer were his calendar and schedule. It was, indeed, the fifth of Garland Moon. It had never occurred to him that someone might give him a gift. 

One of the cooks in Castle Gautier used to make him buns drizzled with honey for his birthday, but once she retired, either no one remembered or no one cared. Sylvain had had to look up the exact day himself a little more than a year earlier when he was filling out his application for Garreg Mach. How Felix knew when he hadn’t even known Sylvain existed before was a mystery, but one he decided he was happier not knowing the answer to. 

Over the course of the day, Mercedes, Annette and Ashe all slipped him small, wrapped parcels. When he returned to his room that night, there was a fifth gift left just outside his door, wrapped in neatly embroidered fabric -- Bernadetta’s calling card. 

Sylvain sat them on his desk and spent an eternity crying over them. Before opening the four remaining gifts, he penned five thank you notes in his best handwriting. He fingered the ribbon on the gift from Mercedes, but decided to save it for the next day. Or maybe when he was feeling down, he could open it to cheer his mood.

That was a good idea. He sniffed the gifts, just to check if they were food, and then stowed them in his mostly-empty trunk for when he needed them.


	10. Chapter 10

“What’s going to happen to Ashe’s siblings?” Sylvain asked.

Mercedes held her chin. They were in the library; ostensibly, Mercedes was helping him with the theory behind White Magic, but in truth they were watching over their juniors. “That’s a complicated question. Because of the Crest system, succession in Faerghus is quite complicated. Declaring an heir isn’t as important as having the ‘correct’”-- she sighed-- “bloodline. Lord Lonato may have cousins appear to dispute Ashe’s claim. If any of them succeed, then, sadly, it’s at their discretion.”

“So they’ll just be kicked out of their home?”

“If the inheritor is a devotee of the Western Church, I imagine they’ll honor Lord Lonato’s wishes and provide guardianship. If not… I don’t have to explain that kind of cruelty to you.”

“Can’t we do something?”

“In matters of royal succession, if there are no Crest bearers, Duke Fraldarius can make the final decision. However, for this, it falls to Duke Blaiddyd.”

“You mean Prince Dimitri can’t-”

“Unfortunately, the Regent has jurisdiction over this matter and even if the duke makes no decision, Dimitri’s opinion doesn’t matter.”

Sylvain tugged on his hair. “This is ridiculous. Half of the noble houses are in our class and we can’t do anything?”

Mercedes folded her hands over the textbook. “I admit, I’m more familiar with Imperial succession practices. It could be worth speaking to Dimitri himself. He has a good heart, but he has the nobility’s blindness to the struggles of commoners as individuals.”

“I’ll see if I can find him.”

“That’s good. I’ll take care of things here.”

“Thank you, Mercedes.”

“Of course, Sylvain.”

Instead of wandering aimlessly, Sylvain went straight for the green house. Not that he expected to find Prince Dimitri there, but if Dedue was there, he’d know where the prince was. When he entered, Sylvain felt a warmth bloom in his chest. Bernadetta was kneeling next to Dedue and they were both speaking softly about one of the plants. Every now and then Bernie would startle and shriek, but Dedue didn’t react, just waiting for her to calm down and continue. 

Sylvain stepped up to them and waited to be noticed. As he expected, Bernadetta screamed before realizing it was him. “Oh no, Bernie, you’ve made a fool of yourself again.”

“It’s alright. I’m happy to see you out of your room.”

“I-I was just coming to tend my flowers and then Dedue offered to help me and now…”

“Dedue, do you happen to know where His Highness is?”

Dedue considered for a moment and then nodded. “He is having tea with the professor.”

“Thank you.”

Sylvain peeked into the gardens to confirm Prince Dimitri and the professor were still there, but the professor spotted him and waved him over to their table. With a blush on his cheeks, Sylvain took the offered seat as well as the cup of tea the professor poured for him. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Your Highness, Professor.”

“No need to apologize, Sylvain. We’re happy to have you. Did you need to speak with the professor?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

The professor looked on, her face still blank despite the pink, frosted treat she was eating.

“Me? Oh dear, I do hope none of our classmates have given you any difficulty. I know Felix can be… fractious.” Prince Dimitri sighed and straightened the napkin in his lap.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just… Lord Lonato adopted Ashe and his siblings. Mercedes and I were talking and she said there’s a good chance that Ashe doesn’t actually inherit the title.”

Dimitri considered it, taking a sip of tea. “That is true. Lord Lonato would have needed to petition my uncle to elevate him to the nobility. With a will, Ashe would be able to inherit Lonato’s possessions, but the title, land and castle would go to whomever is next in the peerage. It’s an unfortunate situation to be sure. Thankfully, Ashe seems more interested in Knighthood than the nobility in specific. I am certain someone will take him on once he graduates and then his lord will see to his accommodations.”

“But what about his younger siblings? Will that lord take them in? And what about  _ now? _ Can whomever inherits just kick them out?”

Dimitri’s eyes widened and he lowered his cup onto the saucer with a clatter. “My apologies. I had not even considered them. Yes, that is a very real possibility. I will write my uncle and Rodrigue this evening. Between them, I am certain arrangements will be made. In the absolute worst-case scenario, I can make Ashe my personal vassal, in which case his siblings will live in Castle Fhirdiad.”

Sylvain’s instinct boggled at living in the royal castle being the worst case, but then remembered that despite being a legitimate heir in castle Gautier, he hadn’t had the best circumstances. “Thank you, Your Highness. Up to now, we’ve been able to keep him mollified with ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine,’ but without their parents, blood or adopted, we realized they might not.”

“No, Sylvain, thank you for bringing it to my attention. It would have brought me great shame to have one of my friend’s siblings be homeless. I will do my best to avoid such oversights in the future.”

Sylvain took a sip of his tea and felt the knot in his chest loosen. He didn’t ruin his posture by slumping in relief, but his tense muscles relaxed. After a few steady breaths, he said, “Professor, Bernie left her room today.”

The professor took a moment to push her eyebrows up in an approximation of surprise. It was obviously fake, but she was trying. “Did she? At this time?”

Sylvain nodded. “She’s in the green house with Dedue.”

Dimitri smiled genuinely. His entire posture lit up like a flower seeing the sun after weeks of rain. “Really? That’s wonderful news. I was hoping Dedue would be able to make friends here at the academy. As I am sure you have seen, Felix never took to him and Ingrid only reinforces his distance.”

“You  _ are _ the crown prince, Your Highness.”

Dimitri sighed, but didn’t press the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Been a bit busy. Watched all of the mdzs drama/The Untamed as well as Promare.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)
> 
> The first arc of this fic will go through the repercussions of Chapter Five: The Tower of Black Winds, then I'll pause writing it to work on other projects and refill the angst well. Any guesses about what'll happen in that chapter, since Miklan is the heir and already has the Lance? 👀👀👀


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard tries a little too hard to convince Sylvain. The boys come to realistic, but incorrect conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! A commentor was kind enough to point out that it's a little difficult to know exactly where we are in terms of game story. For reference, this chapter takes place just after the mission in Chapter 4 (Byleth acquires the Sword of the Creator).
> 
> While I will do some more to make it more clear in the future, this is the inevitable result of the fact _that I've written against the game plot like 15 times and I'm just tired of it, lmao_. So it probably won't change much. I try to only include sections that are wildly different from canon because, well, we all know canon. No one's here for a canon retelling.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

A few days after the Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth, the Imperial Princess approached Sylvain again. Felix had just left his company to go train and Sylvain knew it wasn’t a coincidence. He was afraid Felix was right and Edelgard had some kind of sinister ulterior motive, though it was hard to believe when she had so much pain behind her eyes. 

“Good afternoon, Sylvain,” she said. She took a seat on the bench next to him and looked at the students enjoying tea rather than watching him as they spoke.

“Good afternoon, Edelgard. How are your studies progressing?” Sylvain examined her as he asked the question. As always, she wore white gloves, but her sleeve had ridden up, revealing an inch of wrist. A heavily-scarred inch of wrist.

“Well enough. What do you think about the professor being able to wield the Sword of the Creator?”

Sylvain averted his gaze and put his hands behind his neck. “That’s strange, sure, but… Maybe it’s because I’m from Faerghus, but I think it’s a much bigger issue that Seiros’ body is missing. The tomb is rarely open to the public and even if we hadn’t been there to stop that mage, the Knights of Seiros eventually figured it out. If someone had broken into it before, surely they would have known.”

Edegard hummed her agreement and gestured for him to continue with an Imperial wave.

“Also, who steals the body of a dead saint and replaces it with something unquestionably more powerful and rare.” He dropped his hands into his lap. “And then there’s Lady Rhea, Archbishop of the  _ Church of Seiros, _ completely unconcerned about the lack of body. Maybe she’s keeping it quiet to prevent a religious crisis across Fodlan, but if that were the case, she would have sworn us to secrecy at least.”

“You make good points.”

“But if Rhea already knew the tomb didn’t contain Seiros’ body, why not just make it a vault for the Sword of the Creator? And further, why put Nemesis’ sword, the sword that ostensibly killed all of the bodies in the Holy Tomb, in the tomb  _ with _ them? Isn’t that, I don’t know, disrespectful?”

“All questions I would also like the answer to.” She sighed and flipped her hair. “You’re quite observant. I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I’ve had the misfortune of meeting your brother and I am certain he wouldn’t be questioning these things.”

“Oh, well, you know how it is. He’s busy being the heir and-”

“And so you’re better off with a Margrave that doesn’t understand basic deduction?”

“I’m sure every second-born thinks they’d be better.”

“And why can’t you be?” Honest anger flared, hot and roiling, under her words. It was… strange. She was the Imperial Heir. If Sylvain’s memory was correct, she had five or six older siblings. Where were they? In the far East of Faerghus, it made sense that he didn’t hear any gossip, but surely the comings and goings of the other Imperial children would be a large topic of gossip? Before he could process everything, she kept talking. “And Caspar’s brother is just as bad. All helmet, no head. Not that Caspar is a great academic, but he listens and is willing to learn.”

“You’re not wrong…”

“And just look at your regent,” Edelgard said, still heated. “Cavorting around and engaging in sullen hedonism while the people of Galatea starve? And he was the older brother, but since he had no Crest, he was passed over in favor of Lambert, who died on a trip he was advised against.”

“Are you trying to say the Tragedy of Duscur happened because of Crests?”

She took a deep breath and clenched her hands together. “Nothing could ever justify the wanton destruction of Duscur. What I’m saying is that if the generals and decision-makers of Fodlan were chosen based on merit rather than happenstance of birth, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

Sylvain stood abruptly and bowed politely. “Thank you for the conversation, but I’m afraid I have to attend to my studies, Your Imperial Highness.”

She grimaced, realizing that she had pressed him too hard. Sylvain considered her words, even as he walked away. She was right, he knew that. He’d bled far too much for that truth, but she was a Crested heir. While true vehemence was possible, it was far more likely she was using it to manipulate him. Even if she was honestly that angry about it, she had better control than to let it slip for no reason.

He kept up a calm facade until he entered the training grounds, at which point he leaned against the wall and slumped down to the floor. No one seemed to notice him, but the moment Felix was disarmed by Jeritza, he picked up his weapon and stalked up to Sylvain. He tossed the practice blade to the ground again and sat near Sylvain, saying nothing.

“You were right,” Sylvain said once Jeritza left and Caspar was busy shouting with Raphael about something.

Felix glanced at him. “About what?”

“Edelgard.”

Felix snorted and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Figured.”

“She asked me what I thought about the Holy Tomb and then talked about the Crest system.”

“It’s stupid,” Felix growled. 

Sylvain considered that response. Glenn had had a minor Crest before he died. When Felix was born with a major Crest, the Margrave had been furious with envy. What had Duke Fraldarius ever done for Faerghus to deserve two sons with Crests? Sylvain could remember hiding under a table as his father ranted, red-faced and pacing. Wasn’t it Gautier that suffered constantly from Srengi incursions? He pushed away the memory. That wasn’t what he was trying to parse. 

Despite having a Crest, Glenn was expected to step aside in favor of his younger brother, in terms of succession. While the Fraldarius family had refused to comment on their succession, Glenn had become a knight, which many nobles, including the Margrave, had taken to be his poor attempt to emulate Kyphon and win over the royal family to always stand above his brother. Did Felix begrudge Glenn for trying to supersede him? Was he resentful about being thrown into the role of duke-in-training even before his brother died? The possibilities stretched out longer the Myrdin.

In the end, Sylvain decided to think about it later rather than try to understand. “That’s more-or-less what she said, and I… don’t disagree, but it was too… inflamed.”

“Inflammatory.”

“Right. Thanks.” Sylvain coughed. “Anyway, if she weren’t the Imperial Heir, I’d say she was trying to stir up a rebellion.”

“Any problems she causes won’t stay in her borders, either.”

Sylvain sighed. “Probably not, no.”

Felix stood and dusted himself off. “My old man better not go easy on her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued patience with the update schedule. Presumably due to a medication adjustment, I feel ill pretty much 24/7, which makes it tricky to get writing in. Hopefully it levels out in the next week or two.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.

As soon as he noticed the unusual bustle of the monastery, Sylvain knew something was wrong. There wasn’t another ceremony or holiday due for some time, but servants walked as fast as they dared, carrying wrapped burdens and cleaning supplies. As he ate lunch with Felix, he tried to figure out how to ask if he remembered anything from Glenn’s time at the academy without bringing up painful memories.

He was saved from finding an impossible solution when Ingrid swept in, straw still in her hair from stable duty. “Felix! Rodrigue is here.”

Felix looked up from his plate only to glare before returning to it. “So?”

“So? He’s your father!” She huffed and sat down, without even getting food first. “Something must have happened. This is the worst I’ve seen him since-- Anyway, he was taken directly to see Lady Rhea and His Highness was pulled out of his lecture.”

“I don’t care.”

“Felix! If something has happened in Faerghus, it concerns all of us.”

Felix showed her his teeth. “If something happened in Faerghus why did he come crawling to the Church instead of going to the regent?”

Annette, who had been eating silently throughout the exchange, flinched at the mention of the regent. She exchanged a pained look with Mercedes before turning her doe eyes at Felix.

Ingrid huffed again and picked a piece of straw off of her shoulder. “Look, we all know the rumors. And His Highness isn't here, so we don’t have to pretend. Whatever the problem is, the regent probably made it worse.”

“If he’s such a problem, then the boar should just inherit.”

“Traditionally-”

Felix slammed his hands on the table and stood. “When has tradition helped anyone? Your people are starving for the sake of tradition, need I remind you,” Felix said the words with a cruel sneer. “If my father and the boar cared at all about Faerghus, they’d crown him king already. I refuse to sacrifice my life at the altar of tradition.” With that, he left the table, his food half-uneaten.

Sylvain tried to relax, but the argument had him twisted in knots. It was such a pathetic reaction, pitiful. Yet, even if his throat hadn’t been locked with nameless fear, what could he have said? Even more-or-less exiled in Gautier, he’d heard about the regent’s incompetence. 

Ingrid sighed, ran a hand over her braid, removed another piece of straw from her hair, and then stood up. “Try not to mind him, Sylvain,” she said. “He’s always like this. I’m going to get something to eat.”

\---

Dimitri didn’t return for the afternoon lecture. Anxiety churned in Sylvian’s gut until he felt faint. As soon as Byleth dismissed them, he leapt out of his seat to sit in the fresh air in the courtyard. It was hot and sticky with more humidity than he would expect in the mountains, but it was better than being inside. Felix kindly packed his things and dropped Sylvain’s bag in his lap without a word before storming off to the training hall again.

The sun had just begun to set when Sylvain’s silent musing was interrupted by a sugar-sweet voice. “Hello. Are you Sylvain?”

The speaker was quite petite and wearing a customized girl’s uniform. She had long, green hair that fell down in thick curls. Though her features were round with youth and sweetness, she had clear resemblance to the sharp-faced Seteth.

Sylvain stood and held out his hand. “Yes, I am. You must be Flayn.”

“I am! I’m ever so delighted you recognized me.” She giggled and shook his hand enthusiastically. She smiled at him so widely, so sincerely, that Sylvain couldn’t help but warm to her immediately. “My brother sent me to bring you up to his office. He told me to be very clear that you’re not in any trouble.”

A sad chuckle fell out of Sylvain’s mouth before he had time to think about it. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to Seteth’s thorough consideration. “Thank you.”

“He did look terribly worried, though, so I do not think it’s good news.” She took his arm, as if he were escorting her, and squeezed tightly. “I will go with you. I’ve been told I have quite a calming presence.” 

“Thank you.”

They walked in a warm, early-evening silence. As they got ever-closer to Seteth’s office, the anxiety began to spin again in Sylvain’s chest. Servants were still bustling back and forth and the sound of shouting voices got louder as they approached. At the top of the stairs, Flayn let out a quiet “Oh dear” because it was her brother yelling.

Though Sylvain had never met Duke Fraldarius, his identity was clear from his clothing and resemblance to Felix. He stood, straight-backed, shouting at Seteth.

“It is my duty to-”

Seteth jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Your duty to any student ends at the monastery gates. With all due respect, _Your Grace,_ it is not your place and even if it were, I would not allow you. This is a sensitive matter-”

“Which is precisely why-”

“-that you, frankly, lack the temperament to handle properly.” Seteth froze when he noticed Flayn and Sylvain’s arrival. He stiffened his back and raised his chin at Rodrigue. “You had nineteen years to care about this matter and squandered it. Please return to your chambers until the Archbishop calls for you.”

Duke Fraldarius looked ready to argue further, but he finally noticed their audience. He gave Seteth a curt nod and stalked away down the hall and to the stairwell.

Seteth sighed and straightened his jacket. “Please forgive me, Sylvain. It seems His Grace forgot himself. Thank you, Flayn, for delivering him to me. I will see you for dinner once I am finished here.”

“Of course, Brother.”

Sylvain gave her a little wave before entering Seteth’s office. He was so twisted up, the chair felt nearly painful to sit on. He swallowed, but failed to voice his question.

Seteth seemed to notice his intense discomfort because he tried to smile. “Sylvain, I regret that we must have this conversation, but it seems that…” He took a deep breath. “Your mother and father were murdered in Castle Gautier.”

Sylvain’s heart caught in his throat. His blood pounded in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. Was he relieved? Terrified? Sad? He didn’t know. There was too much. It was too much. He couldn’t believe it. “Murdered?”

Pain cut deep lines in Seteth’s face. He nodded. “Yes. Thankfully none of the household staff were harmed, but they were indeed killed in their sleep.”

Tears fell from Sylvain’s eyes and he realized he was shaking his head. It didn’t seem real. How could they be dead. “How- Who did this?”

Seteth folded his hands on top of his desk and closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. After a minute, he opened them and said, “It was Miklan.”

The bottom of Sylvain’s stomach fell out and down through to the ground floor. Miklan? But why?

“Regent Blaiddyd is aware of the situation. His ruling is that… As the rightful wielder of the Lance of Ruin and Crest of Gautier, Miklan will receive no punishment.”

“What?” Sylvain clutched his chest. “How is this- What? He can’t just-”

“His justification to the court was that he cannot leave the border unguarded.”

“This can’t-”

“I know.”

Sylvain put his face in his hands. He couldn’t make sense of it. It was some kind of terrible nightmare. “What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in some of the comments, I don't actually think Rodrigue is top tier shit dad. He just tries his best in all the wrong ways. But Seteth doesn't have time to teach him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a breaking point.

Sylvain couldn’t sleep after this talk with Seteth. His promises that Sylvain wouldn’t be forced to return home sounded so confident, but… But there was precedence of students being recalled home by their parents. And the regent had just shown Miklan that he could do whatever he wanted without consequences. Sylvain was terrified and frustrated with his own impotence as a yoke around his neck.

That was all the explanation he had for why he punched Gustav Dominic hard enough in the face to knock him to the ground. He stood over the former knight of Faerghus shaking from head to toe. Annette rushed to her father’s side and grabbed his arm, but whatever she said was lost in the pounding of Sylvain’s blood in his ears.

“How dare you run from her?” Sylvain said, malice dripping off every word. “How dare you abandon your family and then show your face as if you’re some stranger?”

Gustav didn’t even have the grace to meet his accusations head on. Instead, he shamefully turned away and laid silent on the ground.

“You’re a coward and more of a disgrace than our regent!”

At that, Gustav flinched and opened his mouth to protest, but once the dam had been broken, the flood inside of Sylvain couldn’t be stopped.

“People rightfully chide him for hiding his face between a woman’s thighs just to pretend there’s nothing wrong, but you’re no better. Did you think changing your name would absolve you? Do you think the Archbishop’s favor keeps your family warm at night? You can close your eyes, but that will never seal the wounds you left behind!”

Annette leapt from the ground and grabbed Sylvain’s arm. “Sylvain, please! I don’t want this!”

“If I don’t say it, no one will!” Sylvain shook her off violently, heedless of how she fell back to the tiles. “My parents were murdered in cold blood and their killer didn’t even have to hide his identity because he knew he’d face no consequences! Crests are an inhuman curse that does this to us!” He turned back to Gustave and only barely restrained the urge to kick him. “Is that why you left, Gustav? Because you knew you could never measure up with your Crested brother? Is that why you sacrificed your daughter on the altar of Seiros?”

Before Sylvain could continue splashing his heart’s blood all over Gustav, he was grabbed from behind, both arms locked against his back.

“Sylvain, enough!” Prince Dimitri yelled in his ear. He dragged Sylvain back until he could see Annette spilling terrified sobs over her unmoving father. But it did nothing to quell the fire in Sylvain’s chest. He struggled against the prince’s grip, heedless of the risk of injury to himself.

“No, it’s not enough! How many more people have to suffer? Who else has to die before we change things?”

“Sylvain, I lost my parents, too, I understand-”

Sylvain cut the prince off by throwing his head back to crash heavily into his face. He yanked his arms free and spun on him. “Go to hell, Dimitri! You have a responsibility to your country, but instead you’re here playing war and making doe eyes at the professor! You claim that we’re your friends, but if I hadn’t said something, Ashe’s siblings would be living in the woods or starving in the streets! You constantly wax poetic about how great Glenn was, completely oblivious to the fact that his brother is here, alive and still suffering because what’s the second son of a duke to the crown-fucking-prince?”

Sylvain only noticed the crowd of students, staff and knights when they collectively gasped at his accusation. The instinct to shy away never came. Instead, it just fanned the fire coursing through his veins. He stalked forward until he was towering over the prince. “If you want to be referred to by your name so badly, you need to fucking earn it, Your Highness.”

“Don’t bother talking to him. He’s nothing more than an animal.” Felix’s voice cut through the stunned crowd. Mechnically, they parted to give him access and he stalked through without hesitation. He didn’t touch Sylvain, but he stood close and met his gaze head-on. “Don’t waste your breath on things that won’t change.”

Though his arm was shaking from the typhoon in his soul, Sylvain lifted it and dropped his hand lightly on Felix’s shoulder. “Alright,” he said in a voice low, defeated and just for them.

“Come on.” Felix led him out of the entrance hall, through the grounds and out into the woods surrounding the monastery. He took a deep breath of fresh air and then plopped down onto the roots of a large tree. Sylvain sat next to him, heedless of the dirt pressing into his uniform, and leaned against the sturdy trunk.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I really fucked it up, didn’t I?” Sylvain said. His voice wasn’t sad or defeated, just… empty. Tired. There wasn’t anything left in him to feel.

Felix scoffed. “It needed saying. Faerghus is falling apart and everyone’s clinging to tradition like that’ll fix anything.”

“Miklan’s gonna kill me.”

“He can try,” Felix snarled. “He was a terrible student. The only reason he wasn’t kicked out of the monastery was his Crest. Glenn could, and did, beat him left handed.”

Sylvain let out something pretending to be a laugh. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“Then he tried to run Glenn down during a mission, so Glenn killed his horse and told him next time it’d be him. He pissed himself and ran away.”

A memory flashed before Sylvain’s eyes, but he shoved it away before it could dig its claws in. “I never even met him and Glenn was a better brother to me than Miklan.”

“Mmm.”

“Thank you, Felix. You really deserved to have him.”

“He deserved to live.”

“Yes. Yes he did.”

Sylvain reached over and put his hand over Felix’s. Neither of them said anything. They simply sat in the woods, listening to the bird calls and distant crunch-shhk of deer and foxes walking through the underbrush.

When the sun began to set, Flayn appeared with one of the knights, a sharp Dagdan woman named Shamir. Shamir carried a tent and a sack over one shoulder while Flayn had a large sack of field cushions. Flayn dropped her burden and brushed the dust off her skirt. “Brother asked us to keep you both company while everyone calms down. It’s been quite an exciting day.”

Shamir threw the bag from her shoulder at them. Inside were several canteens as well as jerky, hand pies and a few whole fruits. She and Flayn erected the tent; though Flayn mostly just got in the way, her sweet commentary and airy laugh negated any disadvantage. She and Shamir settled on one side of the open-faced tent while Sylvain and Felix sat on the other, hesitantly biting into the food. Flayn kept up conversation for all four of them by herself with only encouraging grunts and nods from Shamir and Felix.

Exhausted from his extended outburst and not sleeping the night before, Sylvain fell asleep first. Just as he began to drift off, he felt a hand settle protectively on his ankle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus starts after Chapter 14. In the meantime, enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The comfort half of the hurt/comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Officially, Borderline is my Top 3 fic _of all time_ despite hits being broken, so holy shit, right?

Sylvain woke to sunlight filtering down through the trees. He and Felix were alone again, with just the mostly-full sack of cushions for company. He took a moment to bask in the late-morning light and warm scents of late summer. Then the memories from the last two days rushed in and he covered his face with his hands. “I’m a dead man.”

Felix scoffed and kicked him lightly. “What are you? Lorenz? Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I assaulted the crown prince!”

“He deserved it.”

“Felix-”

“What’s he going to do? Strip your noble title?” Felix crossed his arms and looked pointedly up at the sky and away from Sylvain. “Trust me. If anything, the boar’s going to apologize to you and insist everyone forget it ever happened.”

Sylvain rolled into a sitting position and rubbed his face with both hands. “It can’t be that easy.”

“How is that easy?” Felix sneered at the sky. “He’s just following the grand Faerghus tradition of never fucking fixing anything. He’s going to go on insultingly pretending to care about other people and once that fails, out come the horns.”

Sylvain lowered his hands and considered Felix. “Why do you call him that, anyway?”

“That’s what he is.” Felix dropped one hand to the hilt of his sword. “Two years ago, Lonato and his cronies mistreated their people enough that there was a rebellion. Instead of sending a diplomat or, you know,  _ feeding _ them, Rufus decided to send child soldiers to slaughter a bunch of peasants. Put some hair on our chests.” He spat into the treeline. “It was already hell, but then the boar lost control. He ran off and by the time I found him, he was covered in blood and crushing live men’s skulls in his bare-fucking-hands. He’s a wild animal.”

Sylvain felt the crippling loneliness from Felix’s words deep in his heart. He remembered Ingrid constantly calling the prince Felix’s best friend. Clearly, Felix hadn’t told her about this. He didn’t know what to say. “That’s horrible.”

“My old man didn’t even care. Just cleaned the boar up and pretended it never happened. It’s going to happen again and he might not come back. That’s just what he is now.”

Sylvain moved over until they were sitting next to each other, upper arms pressed together. “I used to have dreams. Maybe they were memories… I was a little kid and Miklan was different. He wanted to play with me, but then our father found out and--” Sylvain sighed. “--but it probably wasn’t real. Miklan treated me worse than our father ever did. He dropped me in a well, once. Covered it and did something to distract the servants all day. I thought I was going to die down there.”

The hot air sat heavy around them. Birds trilled and there was a loud growl in the distance. In the distance, the sun approached noon.

“You never have to go back there,” Felix said.

Sylvain laughed bitterly. “What choice do I have?”

“None. You’re coming home with me. If Miklan wants to start something, he can fucking fight me. He couldn’t beat Glenn and he can’t beat me.”

“Thanks Felix.”

“Don’t ‘thanks Felix’ me. I’m serious. He’s a pathetic bottom-dweller. He’s not going to touch you. Then once the boar gets himself killed, my old man will inherit and you and I are going to fix our Goddess-forsaken homeland.”

“Is there nothing we can do for Dimitri?”

Felix finally looked at him. “I doubt it. My old man said it’s because of the Tragedy and that court witch, Cornelia, whatever, she healed his wounds back then and said there was nothing else she could do.”

“Cornelia Arnim? The one who cured the plague?”

Felix shrugged. “I guess.”

“Not that my father wasn’t a terrible person, perpetuating lies about the Srengi and--” Sylvain coughed. “--Anyway, he and my mother always thought that plague was an Imperial plot. None of the Western lords were affected and it swept through Fhirdiad almost to the  _ day _ when your mother first visited with you.”

Felix snapped to attention at that, his eyebrows pulled tight and mouth in a hard frown. “...And that woman showed up right after my mother and queen died.”

“Yeah.”

“So you think, what? She poisoned Dimitri after the Tragedy? Used her magic to screw up his mind?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to have someone else look, right?”

Frown still in place, Felix drummed his fingers on his thigh. “That woman wasn’t even a noble in Adrestia, but she’s practically a royal concubine now. Father doesn’t like how much she interferes in politics, either.”

“...Shit, I was just-- I didn’t think there was really anything to it.” Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck. 

Felix considered for a moment, then he met Sylvain’s eyes and smirked. “I’ll just beat the crap out of him during training. Have Mercedes and Marianne take a look at him.”

“What about Professor Manuela?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “She’s incompetent. You’ll have to lure her out of the infirmary.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

They exchanged frowns. Felix said, “We don’t want Riegan sticking his nose into Dimitri’s problems. Tell him you need to get Manuela alone for something and he’ll come up with something suitably stupid and self-incriminating. For laughs if nothing else.”

“No wonder you skip all of the strategy lectures.”

Felix smirked and then elbowed Sylvain in the chest. “Don’t be a brat.”

“Hey, it was a compliment.”

“Yeah, whatever. Let me know when you’re ready. I can goad the boar into a spar whenever.”

Sylvain thought about it for a minute. “Oh, actually, we probably don’t want the professor involved in this. The Archbishop is weird about everything involving her. So what if I tell Claude I want to set her up with Manuela, then all three of them will be out of the way.”

“Marianne’s skittish,” Felix said. “You’re friends with Mercedes; talk her into studying with Marianne and then we’ll time everything else with that.”

“I’m doing a whole lot of the work here.”

“You’re better at talking.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Stop making that face. Just trust me.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small hiatus starting now. I'm going to write a pretty sword boys AU and possibly work on something else as well in the meantime! Thanks for all of your support so far.


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